Mortality's Sheep
by Onyxx-09
Summary: "...had died." Pietro glances up as the words hit him. He tries to focus on the man's lips but only heard ringing in his ears and none of the words reached him. It wasn't supposed to end like this. If anything, HE was supposed to die first—she had promised that. SHE PROMISED. And now she's gone. "I'm sorry," the man spoke the words that always made things worse. Peter/OC. Oneshot.


_**A/N: This was written way beforr X-Men Apocalypse and Days of Future Past so it's based off of the idea that Quicksilver is younger than Storm, and takes place around the first two X-Men movies**_

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"…..has died."

Peter glances up as the words hit him. He tries to focus on the man's lips and read what he was saying, but he doesn't listen. He doesn't hear. There is just a high pitched ringing in his ears as he watches the man's mouth move in a sort of slow motion only Peter can see, watches him form the two words that _always_ made situations worse:

_"I'm sorry."_

Peter has a small frown on his face while the other man appears indifferent, as if they could have been talking about the weather. Peter's hands tighten into fists and he could feel his breath growing shallow and feel himself shaking at the starplof that all-too-familiar pin prick behind his eyes. _No_, he thought, _no, it can't happen; it wasn't supposed to happen this way_. He tries so hard to focus on the man's words but couldn't, can't, and he feels a burning, hot emotion bubbling up his chest. The man before him scruncheshis eyebrows in a show of faked concern. The frown on Peter's face deepens.

"It happened a few days ago…" The man tells, and Peter realizes just how much of a _shmuck_ he appears, his cheap trainers. "…..Lost too much blood…." he tells, blowing out hot air. "…..Did all they could…."

None of it reaches him. It just goes in one ear and out the other, Peter only catching bits and pieces. And the way the gray-haired man is _glowering_ is beginning to make the other very nervous.

The barer of bad news moves his hands to his pockets. A heavy, hollow silence fills the room once he finishes speaking.

Peter doesn't look away from the man's wavering gaze. The silence persists until the man begins worrying how long it would last—and he grows afraid to move in fear he would be lashed out upon. The weighted silence continues until the mutant finally speaks.

"You're lying." The words spill out and mash together as if one word. All it is is emotion. Peter's chest tightens, and his voice, though heavy, shakes tremendously. "_You're lying_! Rainy isn't dead! She wouldn't die, she wouldn't leave, _she can't be dead_." He suddenly sucks in a breath, trying to remain calm and keep his breathing steady.

_"You're vibrating again," _she would have told him,_"calm down."_

He can feel his breath quickening and knows that a panic attack is creeping into his system.

She was fine. She had been okay, she had said so herself. She promised. _She promised_. _He_ is supposed to die first; _he_ is supposed to protect her. She looked just the same a month ago when he last saw her. She had been just fine. If she weren't, she wouldn't have been smiling...

She was fine. She _is_ fine. She's fine. She's fine. She's fine. She's fine. She's fine. She's fine…

He doesn't waste a minute before he steps in the man's face. The look Peter wears makes the man fear he would be torn limb from limb.

Voice still uneven, he growls, "where...is she?"

From his proximity, the barer could see tears brimming in the opposite's dark eyes. And his body slightly blurs, shaking at a higher speed than the man's normal eyes could focus on.

Peter still didn't want to believe...

But before he could even open his mouth, the gray-haired one vanishes, and the other is left replaying everything that just happened.

Peter races back leaving the front door swinging open. He bursts into every room, doors banging off the walls and his voice echoing abandoned rooms, sounding only after he left. He runs blindly, calling into each room. The living room. The game room. Kitchen. Dining room. The study. The library.

Nope.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Nowhere.

He gasps, the world passing by in watery blurs.

The nightie he saw her in only a few days before still lays on the bed sheets, all of rumpled silk, and untouched. The closet is left open and her dresser slightly cluttered with books like always. And his throat tightens. He cries out.

"RAINY!"

He calls for her to come out—maybe she's hiding, studying? Hoping to God this is all a rude joke.

He screams.

No one answers.

Had she been clumsy and punctured herself? Had she gotten a ruptured wound? No. No, she isn't _that_ careless, and he knows she would have ran for the telephone as soon as it happened, knowing she would have bled out in minutes.

He screams.

Peter runs, and no one answers.

He finally stops once coming to his own bedroom. No body under his sheets or waiting in his closet with some terrible prank he could see coming a mile away.

He finally stops in the middle of his room, facing the window. There is a nice view of the green land and vacant oak trees. He must have scaled the vicinity at least twice. His breath is coming out rapidly from his strained lungs and racing heart. His hands in fists and his chest feeling like it's twisting into as complicated knot.

No one had answers him.

_**. . .**_

Peter is found still in the same position not much later by Ororo Munroe. She had known about the girl's death days before, but had too found out late.

At first, residents didn't know how doors that had been closed were suddenly opening until someone caught a gray streak going by. With the persuasion from Charles and Jean, Ororo went searching for the speedster throughout the mansion until coming to his bedroom. His door is left open like the others, so she needn't knock.

Peter stands in the middle of the room completely silent and completely still, and it unnerves the former queen.

"Peter…? Is everything alright?" She calls warily.

He didn't answer and Ororo was left to stare at his back. She dares to take a step inside the room. She calls him again...and still no answer. Little bit by little bit, Ororo inches into the room until she is a few feet away when he suddenly slumps over and plops gracelessly on to the floor. And she watches silently as he bends over his knees, breathing quickly.

He doesn't register that she is there.

He and Rainy had known each other for _years._ Even though they didn't start off pleasant, she had helped him. She was one of the first people who looked at him instead of his abilities, only. And now she's gone.

And he hadn't even known.

Ororo comes up beside him. He's staring at the carpet, silent once more with a blank look about his features and legs crossed in front of him. What shocks her was that he hadn't even cracked a tear over the girl's death.

Ororo didn't say anything, knowing he could become anger-prone, and worries that if she did, whatever response wouldn't go over well.

For what felt like minutes, they just sat in silence. No words were uttered or even murmured. The heaviness in the air is enough. It isn't until she lays a reassuring hand on him was the silence broken: Ororo looks over hearing a sob and watchs in barely concealed surprise as Peter breaks down in front of her. First came the one, two loud sobs. Then he leans over his knees, wraps his arms around himself, and cries.

_Bawls_.

At first, Ororo doesn't know what to do and is frozen. Here is this proud, audacious, arrogant man bawling just below a yell, folded into himself like a small fragile child. She's so used to him spewing sarcastic remarks that she would forget just how much he had to bare: watching many he knew die; growing up poor, feeling responsible for his sister, Wanda, and his mother struggling to make ends meet; shunned at school; and on top of that, his mutation. Then it dawns on Ororo—he was still so young.

And she many years older

She knows how close he and Rainy had been, even though neither would ever admit it. She knew how much Rainy had admired him, how much she _liked_ him—_"liked"_ putting it softy.

Rainy was all he had for so long

There is a period of time that Ororo sits and waits patiently, undisturbing his wails that pierce her ears. It is only paused when her hand runs up and down his spine. She feels him shutter under her touch. His breaths start coming out short and quick, and Ororo doesn't notice until hearing him choke on himself.

He is having trouble breathing

She sees this and calls his name. "Peter...?"

To him, the world is spinning and he hears the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn't move and can't think, and all he feels is his heart aching, stuttering in his ribcage, and the pain at the start of swelling of his eyes, and the overbearing, crippling weight of the reality crashing down on him. And he feels alone again, so alone. A weight presses against his chest. He can't breathe and begins to shake.

"_Peter_...?"

He hears is name but isn't able to form helpful thoughts. He shakes his head, tears still streaming and body vibrating more violently. It isn't until he feels her hands on his cheeks does he register her voice directed at him. He sees Ororo's lips move but no sound reaches his ears, just that high-pitched ringing noise again.

Where is he again? What was this?

His eyes are blinking, searching the room and Ororo tries to direct his sight on her—it works after several failed attempts. She knows that if he doesn't regain himself he could pass out, or suffocate on his own saliva at the speed he is panting, or worse.

His brain is twisting, searching for something, _anything_ to focus onto. Ororo turns his face back to look at her, and for a moment, the hands on his cheeks belong to the girl he once knew.

Just like Rainy had done before

_Where is the oxygen?_

"Peter! Peter, look at me!"

He sobs loudly.

"Here, focus on me, _focus on me_. Now, slowly. _Breathe_, breathe. In, out, deep breaths...again in, out." She motions the method with her hand gliding up and down. And after some difficulty he follows, slowly at first, until he comes back down.

The tears are still roll off his nose in streams.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to her side. And just as a small child, he grips her other arm close, curling into her side. His crying doesn't subside from sharp gasps and hiccups.

"It isn't your fault," she reassures.

No matter how many times Rainy has told him not to and that she was well, Peter still wanted to keep watch over her; he still worried about her.

"She passed away without anyone's knowledge. She wasn't even at the mansion when it happened. So none of it was, none of it is to blame. It could never be. So, don't think it to be."

Peter shakes his head rapidly. He blubbers between deep breaths, the words mashing together, "I failed her….I-I…"

She was gone.

_"And I couldn't save her."_

Ororo runs her hand down his bright hair. He had trimmed it shorter just a year ago. "No, you can't save everyone," is what she wanted to say but decides against it. Instead, she repeats, "it wasn't your fault. None of it is. Don't worry."

He bawls loudly. His face is red now.

He cries for what feels like hours. He cries and cries and calls until his head hurts and he can barely see. When she felt the shaking of hus shoulders slow, she spoke. "Peter… Peter," she pries his grip from her sleeve and forces him to look at her again.

His were bloodshot. He sniffs, letting a few loose tears fall.

The sight is drastically different than his normally quirky and carefree attitude. Almost like she expects him to spit a nerdy or smartass comment but he doesn't.

He looks pitiful.

"Hey." She takes his face in her hands. "Look at me. l…look at me. Now what would Rainy say if she saw you like this?"

His lip quivers before he lets out another wail, calling the name of the deceased one he loved.

Ororo forces him to look her back in the eyes. "Peter, answer me. Now, what would she say?"

He didn't answer and just sniffs.

"_What would she say_," Ororo presses. She knew that the girl had had a strong personality and thus hoped this would help jog some sense into him.

Peter's face twists for another bout of tears.

"_What would she say_?"

He chokes, shrugs "That… …That…" Words jumble together at a speed she couldn't understand.

"Take a breath...speak slower."

_"Why are you crying?" _the girl would stand in front of him, similarly in the way he imagines._ "Is it a matter that is reversible or controllable? Because otherwise than to make yourself feel better, extending that period is you're just wasting your tears."_

He gasps. "To suck it up," he answers. His voice trembles.

Ororo forces down a smile. She can imagine the other saying those words exactly and all too well.

He continues, his voice cracking and still unsteady. "Sh-she'd say that if it's something…out of your...control, t-to not dwell on it. That it's fine to scream, but…"

"But what?"

He doesn't answer.

Ororo knows what the other would finish if she was standing in front of them. "But at the end of the day, nothing is definite, right?"

The lump in Peter's throat grows worse and he struggles to swallow it down. "So...to cry would be more or less useless if it extends the use for self console," he continues, sounding more normal. He gives a bitter bark of laughter. "She'd say that I was being infantile and fatuous." After being with her for so many years, he's picked up on big words he would have never used otherwise.

Crying over spilled milk

Ororo rubs his head, sensing him calming. He is still gasping like a small child, but is better, much better.

Pause. It's quiet.

"She'd probably kick my butt if she saw me."

Ororo looks over. The lines etched on his face from battle and experience just made his small, bitter smile that much painful to see, regardless the irony.

"Probably," she agrees. "Or hold you, like this."

He turns his tear-stained face back to her yellow sweater. His lips move, speaking words too low for her to hear:

"Or that."

Peter breathes. The room is quiet once more. After a following several minutes he sits up, wipes his face on his sleeve and murmurs an apology for soaking hers. Though Ororo told him there was no need to apologize, he shrugs as if brushing it off.

SILENCE.

_"Peter, when I die, would you feel sorrowful for my dead corpse," Rainy asked, pulling down her jean shorts. The question was random. And she had only touched on the subject once before._

_He sat on the other side of the room at the end of his bed, back turned to her as she changed. "What kind of question is that?"_

_"What would you do?"_

_"Can we not talk about death?" he pressed. __She could tell he was beginning to grow frustrated by his tone._

_"Should I wear a white shirt or a white dress? I feel the need to have an appearance of purity."_

_He scoffed to himself. Purity? "Whatever. Just hurry up so I can turn around. I'm ready to go."_

_She frowned for a moment. "So what would it be," she returned to the question before. "Would you be there at my funeral or would you be off spending all the money I would leave you?"_

_"You don't even have that much money."_

_"And how would you know that?"_

_"Trust me, I know. You don't want to find out how, but I know."_

_She pursed her lips. Knowing him, he would have likely read her bank statements at least once._

_"But to tell you the truth, I'd probably cry. And like some big baby."_

_There was a pause as she threw on clothes. Then, her tone hard: "Don't. Don't cry for me. Especially that of all things to do. I don't want to hear that anyone cried over me. So don't do it, understand?"_

_He moved to turn around but caught himself. "How would you even know that if it was _afterwards_? Besides isn't that what you're supposed to do?"_

_"It doesn't matter what the mainstream believes what should be the right thing to do or not; they can be screwed for what little care they are given. Just don't do it. Understand," she ordered, still speaking softly. "Promise me that."_

_"I don't think that's something you can ask someone to promise."_

_"If I don't ask you anything else or if we don't hold on to any other one, promise me."_

_He felt his bed dip as she came up to kneel behind him and her hands slide to encircle his neck. Her chest pressed against his back and he saw that she wore a blue sundress almost the same shade as his shirt. She nuzzles her cheek into his neck and he could feel the ends of her curls along his jawline. They were in his bedroom at the mansion, facing the open window._

IN HIS BEDROOM

Peter rests his head on the Ororo's shoulder. His tears had stopped a while ago but the salt stains remain and eyes still red. The sun now is beginning to set far outside the window, bathing the room in warm oranges and yellows.

_"There's just one regret: that I never told her just how much I was thankful, how much I actually cared for her."_

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**He wants to tell her**  
**that wherever she is,**  
**no matter what has happened,**  
**no matter what had been done,**  
**or for however far away.**  
**And so, when she doesn't respond,**  
**He knows she's used up all her words,  
****so she slowly whispers _No regrets  
_**_I will always love you_

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**_A/N: Review for this one shot please_**


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